Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
The eyes of the continent's heroes had opened. The cold air filling the bedroom tickled my nose.
"…Sniff."
Shouldn't have left the window open while sleeping. Opened it because it was stuffy, and now I've got a damn cold.
I fumbled for the clock next to my fountain pen and checked the time: 6 a.m. The world outside had already taken on a dim twilight hue. Slowly sitting up, I leaned back in the leather chair. The cool touch of the leather made my body shiver, snapping me fully awake. I shook my head to clear the fog from my mind and turned on the TV to see what was going on in the world.
-Beep.
"…Hmm."
I watched the priest lunge with his blade, then shut off the TV. With the news gone quiet, it looked like nothing special was happening today either.
Just like every civil servant loves meetings, the embassy's morning kicked off with one. Our intelligence section was no different.
"Any peculiarities?"
"Intercepts show the communication origins have expanded further. Traffic volume up by exactly 3.2 times."
The Imperial Guard kids were spinning their wheels.
"How'd the tail go?"
"Tracked 'em down—got their movement patterns, residences, and full dossiers on contacts. Mostly First Bureau agents."
Background on the attackers was progressing steadily.
"Any intel on the bomb terror?"
"Inquisition's rounding up smugglers, but no hits yet. Diplomatic checks cleared everyone except the Kien Empire."
"If we nail the explosive import route, we can string 'em up. Focus there."
Hunting the bastard was about halfway done.
"Official schedule starts at 11, so let's take a breather before heading out."
"Yes, sir."
The rest of the minor reports went to paper, and we lounged around munching snacks. On TV, that priest and professor from earlier were deep in a heated debate.
The debate on epidemic countermeasures had devolved into a petty food-fight over credentials.
"Whoa, a med school prof scrapping with a bishop? First time seeing that."
Jake, sorting files, glanced at the TV and chuckled.
It was a rare sight, for sure. Church healing priests and university-trained doctors were like different species with clashing doctrines.
"That's 'cause the Hero shook hands with the healers once, right?"
"Nah. Docs and priests brawling ain't new."
"Never seen a field medic go at it with a chaplain, though."
"Why redden faces in the field? Everyone just does their job."
As we bantered staring at the TV, Pippin returned from feeding papers into the shredder. Her face was stormy. Frowning hard, she marched over and smacked Jake's head with a stack of docs.
"Jake! I said sort 'em right! Pull only the disposables—how am I supposed to work if you toss in classifieds too?!"
Jake had fucked up again. Shred classified docs by mistake, and you'd be in an interrogation room 1v2 with counterintel agents. (Jake had a prior: two weeks of hell from one slip-up.)
"You crazy bitch!"
"Let it go—just be careful next time."
I waved casually to defuse it. No harm done, so all good.
Pippin huffed back to her seat, hissing a dire warning: "One more fuck-up, and you're going in the shredder."
Business as usual between those two.
"Camilla Lowell up by now?"
"Hero's at breakfast, sir. Looked wiped."
"You two are the same. Walking corpses."
"You're the worst off, Major."
Pippin pointed, and Jake shoved a mirror in my face. I peeked: zombie staring back.
"Fuck my mom."
Caught me off-guard enough to curse.
Jake pulled the mirror away. "Why not clear the whole day and crash? Schedule's light anyway."
"Gotta shadow Camilla Lowell—why skip?"
"You grease Church folks with bribes left and right. People-handling stressing you out?"
"…Tch."
No comeback. Building the intel net meant dashing around with pouches, yeah. And dealing with those pigs wore me down, true. Stress was piling up lately. Hero safety. Hunt terrorists. Watch the Imperial Guard. Manage Hero's schedule and associates' images. Big stuff alone was this much. Body count of ten wouldn't cut it. Overtime pay kicked in past 10, but regs capped it. If not civil service, I'd have reported to labor board already.
"Ain't just me hurting. You guys, agents, embassy staff—all grinding. What to do?"
"Others get seven hours sleep. You and us barely hit six."
"Think trimming schedules is easy?"
I sighed deep. Had authority to adjust, sure. But bail without cause? Not endless handshakes—endless protest letters flood the embassy. Last time I tried canceling for Hero's health, the ambassador clung to my leg begging. Couldn't ignore a near-50-year-old pleading. Unless safety issue, no canceling. Colonel said adjust for security, not "skip if tired."
"Your health's one thing, Major, but ducats are draining fast. How many bribes you dropping...?"
"Hey, hey—those ducats are all counterfeits anyway."
"Pardon?"
"Intel had the mint print fakes. Real cash? Treasury'd go bust. All counterfeit."
Explanation that the state printed counterfeits for intel ops left Pippin and Jake jaws-dropped. Called supernotes in my past life. States print 'em for dirty jobs: inflate currency to crash economies, force counterfeit checks to waste admin, or cheap foreign bribes. Nazis mass-printed British pounds in WWII for inflation—Operation Bernhard? College memory fuzzy on name. Obvious: get caught, you're fucked. State-level crime.
"Whoa, so we're breaking the law."
"Intercepts and tails legal? Warrantless in foreign turf? Obviously illegal."
"We get busted, all jailbirds."
Eh.
"Diplomatic immunity shields—deportation at worst. Bad luck? Prison or street bullet."
We discussed doomsday calmly. This biz: success or death. State might prisoner-swap back home big-time. Frozen relations? No dice.
Silence fell heavy. Not a laughing matter. Pippin and Jake had seen friendly seniors and peers nabbed on ops. …Me too.
"Quit the funeral faces—out for chow."
Clapped twice for attention, exited the conference room. The two ducklings trailed their mama duck.
"Where to eat, sir?"
"Economy sucks—canteen."
"Heh! Buy us a meal, Major!"
"Fuck off—I know your hazard pay triples salary, beggars."
"Aww, treat us~"
"Scram, you creeps."
Flanked by 'em, I headed embassy exit. Tough work needs good fuel.
"Pick menu."
"Meat!"
"Always meat? Try variety."
While Pippin and Jake pondered menus, we hit the front entrance. About to log out on the sheet—
"Wait! Hold! Stooop!"
Agent sprinting from afar, arms waving.
"What's up?"
"Du, Duke officer, sir."
"Agh—I'm just a plain major."
"Major! Fresh intel just in...!"
Intel? I had no report.
His hand shook pointing inside embassy. Agents dashing corridors like mad.
What the fuck.
"A shootout's going down right now!"